


The Road Taken

by gogoburritos



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Ben Solo is a Mess, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Kissing, No Sex, One Shot, POV Rey (Star Wars), Prompt Fill, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28250469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gogoburritos/pseuds/gogoburritos
Summary: Rey pulls a prank on her housemate Ben. She doesn't expect it to turn out so well.Prompt fill for @reylo_prompts on Twitter.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 5
Kudos: 66
Collections: Reylo Prompt Fills (@reylo_prompts)





	The Road Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Hiii. I wrote this little one shot last month as part of NaNoWriMo. It's a Reylo Prompt Fill for this: "roommate AU where Rey leaves her dildo stuck to the shower wall and Ben doesn't know how to react & says nothing, until a few days later he cracks at breakfast and blurts out 'I'm sorry but I've got to ask: can you take more???' Bonus: she did it on purpose."
> 
> Let's just say I ran with it lol.
> 
> Unbeta'd. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Rey is shampooing her hair and thinking about the last time Ben made food for her--despite the fact that he’d gone off on her the day before for leaving a mess on the dining table (she’d been working on a paint by numbers project when she’d had to stop to go to a Zoom meeting). It had been a delicious beef stroganoff. It isn’t Ben’s usual keto diet fare so he’d obviously made it special for her. Maybe because he felt bad for going off on her _again._ She’d only listened and smiled through his tirade whilst sitting at the table where she’d cleared away all traces of her project before starting work that morning. 

She washes the shampoo out of her hair and then gets some of her coconut smelling conditioner to run through her hair. The only reason she doesn’t tell Ben to piss off anymore when he gets all stressed out and wound up and blows up at her is because she knows his secret. She knows he doesn’t actually dislike her. 

Plus, he’s often apologetic enough afterward to make her food or let her choose what video game they’re going to play or movie they’re going to watch that night. 

He just really needs another way to blow off steam, she knows. The control freak. 

She washes the conditioner out of her hair and shaves her legs before finishing up in the shower and drying off. She wraps her hair in a microfiber towel and wraps a bath towel around her body, tucking one corner under the other layer under her armpit before leaving the bathroom to return to her bedroom. She doesn’t expect Ben to be heading down the hallway at the exact same time, and she nearly collides with him, both of them turning sideways at the last second. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“Excuse me,” she says. Their gazes lock for a moment before she course corrects and continues into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Ben smells like cedarwood and a kind of spice she can’t identify at the moment, along with the slight tang of sweat. It’s low-key amazing, frankly.

Even though she knows he would absolutely be down, she hasn’t tried to hook up with him. For a lot of reasons. What’s stopping her the most is how much she likes to see him squirm. She likes to imagine him wanting her, thinking it’s his secret, and pining away in his bedroom as if she’s totally oblivious to his feelings for her. 

It sounds a bit, well, harsh, but he can be such a douche canoe when it comes to controlling his surroundings. His little tantrums certainly don’t help at all. 

She owes him nothing, so she lets him pine and pretend like he’s doing a good job of hiding it to his little emo heart’s content.

* * *

The two of them are watching a movie on the couch, Rey crocheting a blanket at one end (she always has to be doing something with her hands) and Ben sitting at the other end with his hands in his lap, when he blurts out of nowhere, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to ask: can you take more?”

Thinking for a moment that she misheard, she says, “Can I what?” 

He’s staring at the flat screen TV, which is playing a Marvel movie they’ve both seen before, when she looks at him. He doesn’t answer for a few beats, and she wonders if she, in fact, heard his question correctly. 

He swallows visibly and then turns to look her in the eyes. He appears determined, his gaze intense, the way his eyes get when he’s fixed on something. In this case, someone. 

“Can you take more than that dildo you left in the shower the other day?” he asks, his hands balled up into fists on his legs.

_Oh._ She had sort of forgotten about that. It had been a few weeks ago that she had purposely left one of her bigger dildos--a bright pink seven incher--stuck to the wall by its suction cup in the shower. She had done it as a kind of prank, to see how Ben would react. Would he finally make a move on her? Or would he ignore it as a mistake? Would he blow up at her like he did about her messiness and the few times she had eaten some of his food (accidentally, of course)? She had been curious to find out. (And maybe she would finally kiss him to see what he would do.) 

He’s still gazing at her with his intense and dark eyes. Right, his question. Can she take more? She doesn’t honestly know. She’s never had anything bigger than about seven and a half inches, and that was an ex-boyfriend’s dick in college. It had kind of ruined her for anything smaller than seven inches. 

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’ve only ever had about seven and a half before.” She puts down her crochet hook and the square she’s been working on. 

“Why do you ask?” she continues. He swallows again, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and glances away from her. Part of her can’t believe they’re having this conversation, and the other part of her is giggling in her head like the immature adult she is. Ben looks like he’s ready to burst. With what, she doesn’t know. More questions? Or something else? 

“You’re...small. Slim,” he says. 

“Everyone’s small compared to you. You’re huge,” she responds, not realizing the implication of her words until they’re already out of her mouth and hanging in the air. He blinks at her. “I mean, not that I would know what size your dick is, but, I imagine, all things in proportion, it would be large, too.” 

His jaw works as if he’s trying to say something.

“Is it?” she asks. “Large, I mean.” His mouth opens and hangs there, his face turning an interesting shade of red.

“I...yes, it is. So I’ve been told,” he finally says.

“Are you all right?” she asks. “You look a bit feverish.” She runs her fingers through the loose strands of her hair, which she allowed to air dry since she isn’t planning on going anywhere tonight.

“Fine,” he barks out. His fisted hands are pressed against his sturdy looking thighs, which are clad in dark jeans at the moment. Is it wrong that his discomfort is sort of turning her on? Or is it mostly the thought of his dick being larger than any she’s ever taken before? Because that certainly sounds like a heavenly challenge to her in the moment. 

“So how big is it? How many inches?” she asks. She flips her hair over one side of her head and folds her legs under her, as if they’re having a casual roommate chat over wine or something. Is Ben Solo finally going to burst a blood vessel?

“Do you ask every man you know that question?” he responds.

She laughs. 

“No, just men who ask me how many inches of cock I can take.”

“You left your neon pink dildo in the shower--”

“Touche. Does that mean you’re not going to answer the question? Why are you avoiding it?” She adjusts her position on the couch so she’s fully facing him, her shorts riding up her thighs as she does so. 

“I’m not--” He stops and then mirrors her position, turning sideways to face her except he doesn’t fully fit on the couch so it looks awkward. “I’m not avoiding the question. My cock is eight and three quarters inches, OK?”

“You have a nearly nine inch cock?” she exclaims, leaning forward with one hand on her heart. “That’s enormous!”

He shrugs and puts one arm over the back of the couch, as if he’s more comfortable than he is most likely feeling.

“Is that why you asked if I can take more than my pink dildo? Because you have a ginormous horse cock?” Well now the cat’s out of the bag. She hadn’t really meant to call him out in this way with her little prank, but isn’t it better to communicate openly anyway?

His jaw drops open again, and then he abruptly stands up. From this angle, she can see that he’s got a bit of a bulge in his pants. 

“Forget I said anything.” He clenches his jaw and stalks off down the hallway. She hears a door shut, presumably his bedroom door, but it doesn’t slam. 

_That went well._ What is it about him that makes her lose any semblance of maturity or filters? Oh, maybe that fact that he’s sort of a dickhead to her sometimes, even if he is one of those humans who has awkward social skills written all over them.

Does she go after him? Apologize? Try to make nice? Or pretend that everything’s fine and let him do whatever it is he does when he holes himself away in his bedroom? 

_Communication is important in any relationship. Especially when two people live together._

She wishes her mind hadn’t chosen this time to remind her of that. She sighs. 

* * *

After she knocks on his door, there’s a rustling sound from behind it and the sound of something hitting the floor. 

“Are you OK?” she says through the barrier of the door. 

“Yeah, uh, just a second,” he says, and then there’s the sound of his heavy footsteps across the floor. The door opens slightly, only enough for her to see his eyes and nose and lips. 

“What is it?” he says, and he sounds a bit out of breath, like he’s been running. 

_Oh my God. Was he jerking off? That’s kind of hot._

“I just wanted to check on you. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“What are you doing in here?” she asks. 

“Nothing,” he says, way too fast, as if he’s been caught doing something bad. 

“Can I come in?” she asks. “Why are you acting so weird?” 

“I’m not acting weird. And no, you can’t come in,” he says.

“You are acting very weird. Why can’t I come in? Are you hiding someone in there?” 

“Because I said so. Stop being nosy,” he says. His breathing is back to normal, and he’s going back to being an annoying dickhead who has to be contrary. 

“I’m not being nosy. I’m trying to be a good roommate and friend.” She realizes she’s getting defensive but can’t seem to stop herself. “You’d know what I’m talking about if you ever tried it yourself.” 

He opens the door more then, grabbing the doorjamb with one of his massive hands (more like paws) and the door itself with the other, leaning into her personal space. 

“Oh that’s rich coming from you. Constantly eating my food and leaving your stuff everywhere. I’m surprised I haven’t found one of your vibrators in the kitchen,” he says, right in her face, his gaze heated. 

“How do you know I have vibrators? And I’ve told you, that was an accident. I didn’t realize it was yours and not something I’d gotten at the store and forgotten about. It wasn’t labeled.” 

“Why would you not have at least one vibrator when you have a flaming pink dildo that you have no problem leaving in the bathroom that we share?” 

“Well excuse me for having a little fun and trying to get my unfairly hot, massive, and apparently hung roommate to loosen up and maybe have a little fun, too!" She definitely did not mean to say all of that. But it's too late to take it back now. 

“Wait, what?” he asks, shaking his head.

“What?” she parrots back to him. 

“What did you just call me?” 

He moves farther into her personal space, basically into the doorway, where he would have to duck his head if he was any taller or the doorway any lower. 

“Which part? I called you a lot of things,” she says. 

She is looking up at him, and his gaze has gone intense again. It pulls her in, and she’s unable to look away. He continues toward her, as if her gaze is pulling him in as well, and she backs away instinctively, until her back hits the wall behind her. His jaw works, and he glances down at her lips and then back to her eyes.

“You are infuriating,” he says. 

“But you like me anyway.” One of his eyebrows quirks. 

“You’re not as oblivious as you seem,” he says. This time, she looks at his lips. They’re generous and full and eminently kissable. And only a very short distance away from her face.

“You talk in your sleep,” she says. Like that time he fell asleep on the couch and said her name multiple times in a distinctly not mad or irritated way and then confessed how much he actually loved her.

“No, I don’t,” he says.

“Yes, you do.” 

“No.”

“Yes. We can do this all night or you can kiss me.” 

Literally only a moment passes, and then he presses his lips to hers, his hands coming up to cup her face, and his lips are so soft and pliable. She opens her mouth and licks at his lips with the tip of her tongue experimentally. He makes a sound that seems to come from the back of his throat, and he opens his mouth, and then their tongues are clashing. His sweeps into her mouth like it belongs there, exploring and mapping the interior. It makes her moan. 

_Of course he would be a thorough kisser._

Her fingers twist into his t-shirt and pull him closer as she stands on the tips of her toes. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her body against his, and it’s wonderfully intoxicating. 

When they eventually part because of air, he presses his forehead against hers, the fingers of one of his hands tangling in the strands of her hair. 

“You’re amazing,” he says. She opens her eyes, and he’s right there. 

Right _here_. 

“You really do talk in your sleep,” she says.

He shakes his head and smiles his brilliant, beautiful smile. 

“Stop talking,” he says.

And then he kisses her again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me over on Twitter @reysbreaddream.


End file.
